Taking Flight
by JKatrin
Summary: A moment between a Northern Lunar chief and his Solar mate.


**Taking Flight**

_A/N: I do not own the Exalted universe, I just play there now and then. Shiarra is my own creation; thanks to Matt for letting me borrow Silver Feathers for this one, and to the other players whose characters make cameos. _**  
**

It was a fine spring morning in the Snow Eagle protectorate. The sharp bite of the air had mellowed somewhat, the tundra was beginning to show its first snowdrops, and Kai-Lin Silver Feathers woke to find his mate Shiarra tickling his wings.

He rolled, scooping her into his arms and pinning her to his chest as she laughed. "Sleepy-head," she teased him. "I thought you were going to sleep all day."

Silver Feathers kissed her breathless before responding. "I wasn't going to _sleep_," he told her. "But I thought we might stay in bed."

Shiarra laughed merrily, looping her arms around his neck. Her jade green eyes were bright with happiness. "But I wanted to fly today." She pursed her lip in a mock pout. "You promised."

"So I did." The Lunar let his hand caress his wife's lush body. "But we don't have to go right away…"

"Yes, we do." Shiarra slipped out of his grasp and regarded him reproachfully for a moment. Then her eyes softened, and she reached out to caress his face. "Please, my love," she said wistfully. "I've been wanting this for so long."

And Kai-Lin Silver Feathers, chief of the Snow Eagles, mightiest of Luna's chosen, was laid low by a single blow from love's sword. "Very well," he said, taking his mate's hand. "Then let us begin."

He took her to the top of the Eyrie. Even in high summer, cold winds whipped around the top-most cliffs, making a sort of strange moaning music. He stood before Shiarra and laid his hands upon her. "I told you before, this will hurt," he said gravely. "Once I am finished, you must allow your instincts to guide you. Try to forget that you were ever human." She nodded, trusting him completely, and waited.

First he used a shining moonsilver talon to slit the vein in his wrist. "Drink," he commanded, lifting the bleeding wound to her lips. She hesitated only a moment before swallowing that most private and vital fluid. Silver Essence began to curl around Silver Feathers as he invoked the Wondrous Lunar Transformation. Shiarra gasped as her bones and muscles began to change, stretching the flesh of her body. Silver Feathers forced himself to ignore her pain, concentrating instead on the exact placement of new growth, trimming here, adding there as needed. Finally, a large hawk stood before him. As suited his mate's vivid coloring, she was patterned in brown and gold, much like the hawk whose heart's blood he had drunk decades ago to find his totem shape. She opened her eyes—changed now from green to gold—and shifted uneasily. Her beak opened, and a harsh cry emerged from her throat. Silver Feathers hastened to kneel and offer his arm.

"One foot at a time," he said quietly.

Cautiously, her eyes locked with his, Shiarra lifted one taloned foot, then the other, closing them around his arm. Slowly, so as not to unbalance her, Silver Feathers stood up again. He could feel her excitement as she gripped his arm, puncturing the muscle by mistake. He ignored the wound—it was slight, and would heal in only a moment. Her heart pounded fiercely; he reached up to gently scratch the feathers at the base of her neck.

"Now," he murmured. "Spread your wings."

Hesitantly, she spread those great brown-and-gold wings. Feathers brushed his face, carrying the dusty scent peculiar to raptors. As the wind whipped around the Eyrie's crags, Shiarra flapped her new wings twice—then practically fell from her perch into the arms of the wind.

He followed, still in his man-shape, so that he could catch her if she faltered. And she did falter once or twice—but each time she caught herself, trusting the air to carry her, and his heart swelled with pride. He flew beneath her and a little to one side, his great argent wings spread wide, soaring on the temperamental thermals. Gradually, the uncertainty melted away from her, and when she looked down at him with an eye that was purely a hawk's and uttered a challenging scream, he knew it was time.

Shiarra flew high and swift. The sheer joy of flight wiped her mind clean of everything but the rush of air through her feathers. She felt the pull of the earth far beneath her and felt only contempt. The clear biting air woke something powerful and primal within her, drove her higher with strong beats of her wings, caused her to scream her defiance of everything that could not fly as high and as fast as she.

There was a gleam of silver; her sharp eyes caught sight of the tiercel below her. He was smaller than she, as was appropriate for the species, with silver plumage faintly shadowed with gray. He was a fine sight as he cruised beneath her, but she screamed her contempt again. He could not catch her.

Up she went, through the thin tattered clouds that threatened to soak her feathers with their heavy mist. She burst through them into the cold clear air above and looked down to see the tiercel follow a moment later. He opened his beak and called to her—not a scream of challenge, but the low croon of one mate to another.

She led him a merry chase through the upper atmosphere, weaving and darting, dropping down to hide in the clouds for a moment before once again breaking free to evade him. He followed closely, gaining slowly and patiently, occasionally calling again to make certain she knew he was still there. Shiarra tossed her feathered head. She was beginning to tire—but she would not be caught.

As he put on a burst of speed, Shiarra folded her wings and dropped back. He backwinged, then in an incredible display of aerial athletics, he managed to loop and ended up beside her. His talons extended and his wings fouled hers. Surprised, she dropped like a stone. He fell with her, his talons binding her gently, his neck entwined with hers.

They fell together, through the air that refused to hold them, toward the unforgiving earth below. Shiarra's blood was heated from the chase, and she was lost in a moment of exquisite violent pleasure as they finished their mating flight. She did not even have time to be frightened as they plummeted.

Then at they last possible second, Silver Feathers' wings snapped open, followed by Shiarra's. They separated, skimming the craggy ground, finally coming to rest with a flirt of their wings. Shiarra was panting from the long flight, her wings drooping. Silver Feathers was barely winded as he resumed his man-shape. Walking over to the exhausted hawk, he gently scooped her up into his arms. Shiarra's eyes closed and she snuggled against his chest. As the last light faded from the sky, her feathers and beak and talons gradually melted away, and her body resumed its former contours.

Sliver Feathers lowered his mouth to his mate's, tasting her in all her human sweetness. She returned the kiss passionately. When they separated, she smiled sweetly at him, resting her head again on his chest.

"Thank you," she said. "That was…wonderful. Indescribable."

He kissed her forehead lightly, right where her caste mark was just beginning to glimmer. "Are you certain it was what you wanted?" he asked worriedly.

She laughed. "Of course it was."

A year later, a Circle of Solars gathered once again at the Snow Eagle Protectorate. They were all a little nervous—none of them could forget what had happened last time this particular event had occurred. But it was different world than it had been then. Not safe, necessarily, but certainly safer. And this time Silver Feathers was beside his mate the whole time, and they all agreed that their sister could not ask for a better guard. So they waited in the great hall of the Eyrie, sipping mead or nibbling on bits of food offered by timid thralls.

At last the inner doors were thrown open, and the Circle was guided into the chieftain's chambers by a grinning hawkman. Shiarra rested comfortably in the furs, while Silver Feathers cradled a bundle in his great arms. Shiarra smiled at her Circle, seeming only a little tired. "Come in, come in," she invited them. "Meet my new daughter."

Xiao Shan was the first to bend over the tiny bundle. The giant man blinked in surprise.

"How do you plan to feed it?" was his incredulous question. Quickly, the rest of the circle crowded around to get a look.

The infant held so carefully in her father's arms was certainly strange. Her proportions were normal, but her legs seemed to bend backwards at the knees, and both they and her arms were studded with pinfeathers. An odd little tuft of something that was not quite hair sprang from her head. But oddest of all was the short stubby beak set between two round eyes. Silver Feathers only smiled.

"She'll eat as young hawks do, until she's old enough to tear her own meat," he said.

"What's her name?" asked the ever-practical Justin.

"Shystral," Shiarra replied.

"What does that mean?"

Silver Feathers gently tickled his sleeping daughter with an absolutely besotted look on his face. "It means, 'Windborn'," he said.


End file.
